


I Never Thought I'd Find You In This City

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU - kinda apocalyptic, Amnesia, Arthur has no name, Epic, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Indie Music, It all makes sense really, M/M, POV First Person, Phillipa is Dom's sister, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is an unnamed, suffering from amnesia attacks, wandering the desolated country in search of his past. He doesn't trust people, he doesn't make friends, he doesn't fall in love.<br/>At least, not until he joins the Madison Road Society and discovers a place to finally call home. But it's not that simple. In a community governed explicitly by laws, he finds his growing attraction to Eames threatening his new found safety... and the safety of everyone he now holds dear.</p><p>Things start happening in chapter 4... I promise :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Madison Road was going to be my new home. I decided that as soon as I saw it; with the neat box houses all lined up it gave me the impression of order and safety. Of course, looks can be deceiving, and I was adamant that this was the case for Madison Road. Nowhere in this city (or anywhere else, come to that) was anything close to what you’d call safe. But Madison Road had character and a nice rolling view down to the ocean. The houses themselves were suburban and surreptitious, with wooden steps leading right off the pavement to a neat veranda and a porch. The scene seemed familiar, like I’d been here before. Honestly, I had seen many houses like these ones. They had duplicated themselves like bacteria in the final rush to restore civilisation. There was something different about Madison Road though; peeling paint and decayed wood did little to discredit the street’s reputation, and the missing tiles from the roofs only strengthened it.

I had heard about Madison Road from several different individuals; drifters, mostly, though two had created their own traveling society. _That_ news I had listened to with a look of disdain on my face. Societies were set up all the time. They disintegrated all the time. Nothing in this world was permanent. The fact they were trying to challenge that, seemed, to me, foolish.

But still, they’d had information that interested me. Apparently, a few years ago, the Madison Road society had been led by a woman called Isla. She had been notorious, and, though no one heard much from her nowadays, I hoped she was still here.

That’s what brought me to Madison Road. I stood gazing at the rusty, weary sign, expecting some kind of clue as to who inhabited the street. But there was nothing to distinguish any individuals; only the society’s crest marked out in chalk in the middle of the road. It looked like a slightly tilted triangle, and when I considered it with a little more imagination, I made it out to be a wave.

That morning the sun was hot and sticky, and the shadows were non-existent. I had grown up in a strange, humid city, spent my childhood racing through the sunlight, but hadn’t been back for many years. The sun had become unfamiliar to me, and here, everything seemed like it was permeated by the heat.

 I stepped down off the pavement, and immediately I knew I had just crossed over the border into the territory of the Madison Road society.

Uneasiness flickered within me. Crossing borders was what I did best, but with no prior knowledge of the society and no idea if they were dangerous or not, this time I felt nervous. I scanned down the street. There was no sign of anyone, something I found to be highly suspicious. Where were these people hiding? No movement behind net curtains, no hushed noises from behind locked doors. It was eerie.

I reached into my pocket and felt my fingers curl around an old switchblade. It reassured me, but didn’t really offer any guarantee of safety. People in these kinds of cities had guns.

And then they stepped out onto the road. There were four of them, and they arranged themselves smoothly into a solid line, blocking me from getting any closer to the houses. I stopped and examined them carefully.

On the left was a young girl, about ten years old I guessed, with long, matted blond hair in plaits. She regarded me a defiant expression, but all she had as a weapon was a polished, wooden dagger, sharpened like a stake. I doubt it would have done too much damaged, but even if it didn’t stab you very easily, I guess it could offer a sharp blow to the head. Either way, the little girl seemed very proud of her dagger and gripped it tightly, raising it slightly to point at me.

Next to her, and slightly in front, was another woman – my age at least – with light caramel-coloured skin and thick, dark hair. She was very beautiful and her appearance bordered on the exotic, but her expression was fierce enough to dispel any illusion of female delicacy. Her large, almond shaped eyes were a strange shade of green that didn’t quite match the rest of her.

In the middle, as the most dominant figure, was a man. He looked to be in his early twenties with dark blond hair and tanned skin, and his features resembled the young girl’s so much I had no doubt that they were brother and sister. His stature was intimidating, and very impressive. He was obviously a warrior, and, judging from the way he held himself with a certain authority, a respected one. He exchanged a look with the young man on his left, which drew my attention to the fourth member of the welcoming committee.

He was a few inches smaller than the other man, but I could tell from where I stood across the road that adversity had made him strong, as was evident in his broad shoulders and hardened muscles. He had dark auburn hair, messed up and casually swept back off his face, with grey blue eyes scanning his surroundings constantly. And while the others looked at me with hostility, there was curiosity in his gaze, and wariness too. Like he didn’t trust me, but he wanted to.

“Don’t come any closer.” The leader ordered me in a clear, uncompromising voice.

I was already motionless, so thought the command seemed a little redundant, but I didn’t argue. Arguing was a good way of getting killed.

“State your name and your society” was my next instruction. At these words my heart sunk and I could feel a heat spreading across my cheeks. I always hated this part of the introductions.

“I have none.” I replied clearly and boldly, although each word was a physical effort to get out.  Having no society meant you were an outcast; having no name meant a lot worse.

Their reactions were nothing new; a frown to indicate confusion, a grimace to show disgust and a sharp breath to express horror. Only the man at the end remained completely neutral. If anything it seemed his curiosity had intensified.

“To which society, or societies, have you belonged to in the past?” The taller man asked in evident mistrust.

I shrugged, still uncomfortable, “I have been associated with many, all across the country. For the past few months I have travelled on my own, without owing loyalty to any specific society.”

“Why?” The little girl asked suddenly. I glanced at her, and the woman, noticing my gaze, pulled the younger girl behind her, glaring at me protectively as she did. I pretended I hadn’t noticed and met the gaze of the tall man confidently, as if I wasn’t bothered by the topic of conversation.

I could still sense the eyes of the young girl on me, but I didn’t answer her question, and instead asked my own, “Are you representatives of the Madison Road society?”

The leader nodded, stepping forward in a threatening manner. “I’m called Dom.” He glanced at his companions, but decided not to give their names, “Why are you on our land?”

I regarded him coolly, ignoring the point he made of having a name. I was used to people rubbing it in my face, if they tolerated it at all. “I’m looking for someone.”

Dom almost turned, dismissing me. “We have no name-givers here. The last we had moved on about six months ago.”

“I don’t want a name.” I said quickly, my pride stinging. “I want to talk to Isla.”

This stopped him. Dom slowly turned around to face me again. “She’s dead.” He said shortly.

“Dead?” I looked from face to face, trying to determine whether this was a joke or not, but all I was met with were serious, guarded expressions.

“Killed in battle.” Came the confirmation from the woman.

I blinked, feeling any hope I had drain away slowly. The quiet man titled his head questioningly at me, but didn’t comment and remained completely impassive.

“Did anyone know her particularly well?” I asked desperately.

Dom shrugged.

“Saito would have done,” The other man said quietly, at last. I jumped a little when he spoke; his voice being deeper and rougher than I’d expected, and Dom glared at him disapprovingly, but the other man wasn’t afraid of him. Smirking slightly, he went back to being silent. I had to drag my gaze from him, to continue the conversation with Dom.

“Who’s Saito?”

“He’s our leader.” Dom growled irritably. “He was her second-in-command at the time.”

I considered this. Being second-in-command suggested that Saito and Isla had been close, at least on a professional level. But I knew how societies worked; you could only trust the people you knew well, and Isla’s and Saito’s kind of relationship required a great deal of trust.

“Can I speak to him?” I inquired.

“Only members of the society can.” Dom informed me indifferently.

“Then I want to become a member.” I said this boldly, as if daring him to argue. But Dom didn’t argue. He didn’t even acknowledge I had spoken. Instead, he turned, motioning for the others to follow him. They slipped down an alleyway and out of sight, and I was left standing in the middle of the road; not significant enough to be considered a threat, not important enough to be considered a friend.

The story of my life.

I knew I should keep moving, try and find some shelter before night time, but something kept me waiting on the street in front of Madison Road. Where I sat on the pavement was neutral territory; most main streets in the city were. If you knew your way around thoroughly enough, you could make your way from one end of the city to the other without ever stepping over a border. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t. I seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to border lines, but the truth was, anyone would notice the difference when in someone else’s territory. There was something in the air, as if everything was saturated in the society’s presence. Trying to locate Madison Road had already resulted in me stepping onto other people’s land on numerous occasions, but luckily I was too quick to get caught.

Just as night truly fell, an older boy came out to confront me. He was almost as impressive as Dom had been, but there was no nobility in his expression. In its place was a cruelness that made him ugly even in the darkness; his high cheekbones and sharp, blue eyes speaking of misplaced power.

“Piss off.” He snarled, his tone a mixture of arrogance and scorn. “We don’t want you anywhere near here. If you haven’t gone by dawn, we’ll kick your head in.”

The message was received loud and clear.

He looked at me threateningly and spat in my face, which was quite unpleasant, but not the worst I had been through. The taboo of no-man’s-land surrounded me, and protected me for the time being. It was generally accepted by all that neutral territory was kept free of violence. Something about the cruel twist of his mouth gave me the impression that this treaty wouldn’t keep me safe for long though.

I sat up all the night and watched the glowing lights shining through the windows of the houses on Madison Street. I wondered how many people belonged to this society. As a young boy I had once been in one where almost three hundred people lived in the same tower block. That wasn’t much of a society though; indeed smaller, sub-societies started to flourish on the different floors. This lead to gang warfare, and there were exactly twenty seven murders before a treaty was even considered. By that time I’d gotten out and moved on. I never stayed in one place long enough to get hurt. It was as old Miles always said, “The closer you are, the closer they get.”

Miles’ sayings always stuck with me, even if I didn’t understand what they meant. They always sounded good; simple but powerful. That was Miles all over. Simple but powerful.  I missed him. The truth was he had been my only friend, and he’d been killed over five years ago.

Miles was the reason I was here, sitting on the pavement in front of Madison Road. He had urged me to find my mother; a woman by the name of Isla. And I had finally found her. The bitch who didn’t even give me a name. Too bad she was already dead, or I might have killed her myself.

Morning came without any relief. I waited expectantly for the society to send out their warriors, but, for a while, none appeared. The sun took this opportunity to make me even more uncomfortable; issuing a stream of intolerable heat over the city. The tarmac steamed slightly.

Dom showed up after a while, with the quiet man flanking him. He leaned against the railings of the steps directly opposite me and gazed, frowning, while I met his eyes evenly. The other man sat on the veranda, twisting a bit of grass between his fingers.

“Good morning.” I called out across the road to them. The quiet man glanced up involuntary, considered me for a second and then looked away coolly. “It’s past dawn, by the way.”

“I noticed.” Dom replied dryly as he strolled over to me.

“Just wondering if I was going to get my head kicked in any time soon.” I mentioned in a cheerful tone.

Dom smiled to himself, “So that’s where Fischer got to last night.” He stopped just before the border line and looked down at me, but not in a menacing way.

“Yeah. We talked for a while. He spat in my face.” I reiterated the night’s events for their benefit. The quiet man rolled his eyes, but didn’t move off the veranda. He seemed to prefer observing than actually getting involved in the discussion.

“Fischer can be a dick, but he always keeps his promises.” Dom warned me, “And I have a message from Saito for you.”

I waited expectantly.

Dom delivered the message without emotion. “Keep off our land.”

“Why?” I asked slowly, not in challenge but out of offended curiosity. I wanted to know what it was that I’d done wrong.

Dom shrugged, “He didn’t say.”

I mirrored his shrug; the picture of indifference. I’d been rejected before. This was nothing special.

Dom seemed about to say something else, then reconsidered. It was only after he had turned around and was walking away that he did speak again.

“Recently there’s been a lot of restlessness in the city. Saito’s just trying to protect us; we can’t risk any outsiders infiltrating our society. We have to be careful.” He looked me over, “Once this conversation is over, all members of the Madison Road society are discouraged from talking to you, unless circumstances change.”

I didn’t respond and Dom took that as his cue to leave.

“Good bye.” He threw the salutation over his shoulder and it fell a few feet short of me, smashing metaphorically on the tarmac.


	2. Chapter 2

I settled myself down again on the pavement. Until I had a plan I was staying put. So, apparently, was the other man. He remained where he was, watching me quietly.

My stomach growled, and I realised it had been a week since I had eaten. I was surprised I was still standing. But there was nothing I could do about it. Last year’s hunger season had been the worst I’d ever experienced. Sometimes we would go a whole month on pitiful scraps shared between one entire society. So, in comparison, I could easily cope with a week.

The sun crawled higher in the sky dragging a cover of heat over the horison. My mouth was dry and I licked my lips without hope of finding any relief. It was cruel how close we were to the ocean, yet there was no drinking water anywhere. The last ocean I’d seen had been on the other side of the country. This one was different; the water was thicker, heavier and much hotter.

I ran a sweaty hand through my hair. My vigil seemed pointless even to me, but out of stubbornness to some unknown cause, I stayed.

Fischer came out to see me at midday. His black, leather attire seemed unfitting in the heat, and it made me feel uncomfortably warm just looking at him.

“You’re late.” I said, disapproving, by way of greeting.

Fischer’s lip curled, “I said I’d kick your head in if you weren’t gone by dawn.  I didn’t say I would be kicking in your head actually _at_ dawn.”

I tilted my head. I had to give him that one. “So are you kicking my head in now? Or are you going to keep me waiting? I only ask because I’m getting bored.”

He paced up and down in front of my pavement. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? Or do you just have a death wish?”

“Maybe.” I raised an eyebrow, “Would it make a difference?”

“No.” He said disparagingly.

“I didn’t think so.”

“So are you gonna fuck off, or do I have to make you?” He came to a sudden halt and turned on me menacingly.

I looked up at him defiantly. He grinned at me.

“Good.” He said softly.

Then he jerked his knee into my face. My head snapped backwards and I could taste the blood, feel it sliding down my throat. The impact was blinding and, before I knew it, I was lying face down on the pavement. Fischer towered above me, sending a sharp kick into my side. I recoiled, springing angrily to my feet, but the scene was distorted, the colours too bright. I couldn’t find any equilibrium in my movements, but there was no time to dwell on that; Fischer lashed out with a fist. I deflected it and countered with my own attack. I could feel the blood pounding in my eyes; the sky had turned violet. I could feel Fischer’s nose breaking underneath my palm and it made a cracking sound as it splintered. I laughed. I felt alive. Everything seemed to be in slow-motion, or perhaps I was seeing it too fast. The violet had darkened, turned to black. The sky was black.

Suddenly my world was illuminated again. The man who had been watching me still sat on the veranda, but Fischer was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the fuck did he go?” I asked bluntly, standing, shaking uncontrollably.

The man looked up at me in surprise. “Who?”

“Fischer.” I stated moodily, looking wildly around for him.

The man continued to stare at me, like I was stupid or something.

I sighed impatiently. “He just kicked me in the face.”

At this, he grinned uncertainly, still regarding me with concern, “He’s gone. Thought he’d won the fight.” There was a definite undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “How hard did he kick you to make you forget that?”

There was a small pause where we both stared at each other.

“Oh, fuck it.” I groaned as I realised what had happened. “Yeah, of course.”

I slumped back down on the pavement, forcing myself to breathe deeply and evenly. There was something about this place; the heat, probably, which had brought back the amnesia attacks. I ran a hand through my hair.

“Are you okay?” He asked, without moving from the veranda.

I lied, not caring whether he believed me or not. “Fine.”

“It’s been an hour since Fischer left.” The man said quietly.

“Only an hour?” I repeated in surprise, “It usually lasts longer.”

He didn’t reply for a second, and then shifted his position on the veranda. “You didn’t miss much.”

“No?” I was alarmed that he had already worked it out. These attacks weren’t something I made public. In fact, I had only ever told… fuck it. I couldn’t remember his name. It was a simple name. But that was normal. In a while I would have all my cognitive functions restored to me perfectly. If I was lucky I might even begin to remember bits of what had just happened here.

 “The fight didn’t last long. After you broke his nose, Fischer wasn’t too keen to continue. He had time to threaten me not to tell anyone before he left.” The man squinted up at the sun in a slightly self-conscious manner. “You cleaned your wounds and then sat there for a while. That’s all.” He added to reassure me.

I nodded gratefully, hardly daring to confirm how precious this information was to me. The man nodded back and we both fell silent.

Night was drawing closer again when he left, slipping away silently without a word to me. I didn’t mind; I was used to being alone. I didn’t move. There was something about Madison Road which tied me to it, and, until I got answers, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I must have fallen asleep because I was awakened by the smell of fresh, warm bread. The man crouched beside me on the pavement, a lopsided smile on his face as he offered me the food and some water in a chipped mug.

“Thanks.” I drank appreciatively, taking long gulps to quench my unbearable thirst. The man shrugged, and tore the bread into bits before handing them to me.

I ate in silence, while he sat beside me. He didn’t seem particularly interested in making conversation; or even acknowledging I was there. I think he had started day dreaming because he jumped a little when I thanked him again for the meal.

“I’m not supposed to be helping you.” He admitted in a disinterested tone, scratching the tarmac with the sharp edge of a stone, “But I thought you deserved it after that fight with Fischer.”

I smiled, not sure how to respond, “So… what’s your name?” I asked tentatively.

He shot me an odd look that only lasted for a second, “Eames.” He said with a sense of finality.

“Eames?” I considered it, “Very unusual.”

He shrugged, flushing slightly, “It’s all I have, so, like it or not, I’m stuck with it.”

“I do like it.” I said quickly.

Eames seemed to accept this uneasily, “What should I call you?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged, “That’s the point.”

Eames cringed, “Sorry, I just wondered…”

“It’s fine,” I took pity and cut him off, “You can call me whatever you want.”

“Well then, it’s nice to meet your acquaintance, Mr _Whatever You_ _Want_.” He flashed an easy-going grin at me to show he wasn’t being serious, but I appreciated the joke.

“And a pleasure to meet yours,” I smirked easily. He playfully shoved me, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up.”

I relented and we both fell quiet again. Eames got up to leave and, with a small smile, left me for the night.

I couldn’t sleep. It was too cold; every time my body came close to drifting off, it would shoot back awake in panic, as if it were worried that if I did allow myself to relax bad things might happen. I waited out the darkness on the edge of the pavement. It was hard and cold and uncomfortable. I would have killed for a real bed right then, although it had been so long since I had actually slept in one that I suspected fond memories and my wistful imagination had turned the idea into something far better than the actual reality. Even so, I didn’t enjoy the night and was glad when the morning light broke over the houses.

The whole city seemed to wake at once, and life began vibrating and creeping in the shadows of the tower blocks and estates. I guessed there might be as much as a thousand different societies trying to exist in a disjointed harmony, their constant wars more natural than uneasy truces.

I stretched my aching body and was surprised to find the chipped mug had been filled again with water and splashed a little when I knocked it. I frowned; I didn’t remember anyone coming to refill it, and I didn’t remember falling asleep for them to do it secretly. I would have to ask Eames about it when I next saw him.

These attacks were becoming a problem. I thought I had stopped them with the help of Miles years ago, but it was a bad sign that they were reoccurring now.

Dom and the girls came back out to see me a while later. I smiled at them without much enthusiasm; my tiredness making me unwilling to keep up any pretence of civility. Any second now they could decide I was their enemy, and then I’d probably be dead.

Dom frowned at the mug full of water but didn’t comment. Instead he handed me a shell. It was cracked and scratched and smelled like salt.

“This token will allow you safe passage through our territory. Saito has generously allowed this gesture of friendship.” Dom seemed a little uneasy about this, but I accepted the shell gratefully.

“I don’t want to pass through.” I reminded him, but he shrugged.

“Do what you will. The offer expires by the end of the day.”

With that in mind I stood up. We exchanged uncomfortable looks, all three of us standing without knowing what to do or say.

Eventually it was the older girl who took charge. “I’m Mal. This is Phillipa.” She smiled at the young girl. “You already know Dom.”

I nodded. I was relieved she didn’t ask for my name, and I liked her confidence and authority. There was a slight accent to her voice that I’d come across a few times in my wanderings, and had already associated with something close to home.

“Can I speak to Saito?” I asked and, to my surprise, my request was granted, albeit reluctantly. Mal led me towards the houses, and into the small alley I noticed they all disappeared down. Here it became evident that the cellar window peeking from near the ground was the entrance into the society. I wondered if you could enter any of the houses through the front doors.

Mal slipped through the narrow gap and landed lightly inside the basement. She looked back and grinned at me, brushing her dark brown hair away from her face.

“Come on.” She coaxed, seeing my hesitation. I raised an eyebrow at her patronising tone and quickly followed. Behind me came Dom and Phillipa.

The basement was illuminated by fairy lights strung around the edge of the room. The effect was very pretty, but also kind of intimidating, like there was something mystical about the scene that I, as a mere mortal, couldn’t contend with.

Apart from that the room was empty, but where the lights bunched together, running along the wooden frame, was a door, and it was from here that Eames stepped through to greet us.

The soft, golden glow of the fairy lights played across his features, making his eyes glitter intensely, like they were deep and dark and full of life. Even his pale skin took on a hint of colour in the lighting and his hair shone like burnt copper. He smiled crookedly, barely making eye contact with me.

“He wants to see Saito.” It wasn’t a question, but Dom answered anyway.

“Obviously. I reckon it’s the only thing that’ll get him to fucking leave.” There was a slight mocking in his voice, but it wasn’t at my expense. Instead it seemed I was in on the joke.

I shrugged and spoke in my defence, “It’s important.”

“Well, whatever,” Dom allowed, leading the way through the illuminated doorway and up some wooden steps.

Mal smiled at me and grabbed my hand, pulling me along after her so unexpectedly that I almost lost my balance and collided with Eames. With a look of surprise, he automatically reached out a hand to steady me, but I pulled away quickly in embarrassment. I was usually much more graceful.

The stairs flattened out into what appeared to be an old kitchen, but the surfaces had been covered in candles. Three or four large ones stood in the sink; their wax had dried like the roots of a tree, planting them to the metal. I barely had time to admire the effect before I was whisked forward again by Mal.

She led me through another doorway, and then on to another room. I saw many society members standing around or casually staring at me. None of them seemed particularly hostile, but none seemed friendly either. Again I got the impression I was a nuisance rather than a threat. I caught a glimpse of Fischer, and he scowled at me so intensely I thought he would attack me again. But he remained in the shadows, watching and waiting.

It seemed we had passed through four or five different rooms, all connected to each other by doors or gaping holes in the walls. We were in the third house on the Madison Road row now, I guessed as Mal beckoned me further into the maze of rooms and rubble and candlelight.

Dom still led the way, marching with authority through the thickening crowd of onlookers, as if he had some private agenda to keep to, and we were making him fall behind. Phillipa skipped along just beside him, shooting me an excited glance every so often. I noticed that a lot of people gave her hugs or high fives as she bounced past. Next in our weird procession was Mal. She beamed at everyone, earning admiring glances off all the guys in the room, and disapproving stares off the older society members. I couldn’t help smirking at this. I think she was aware of it all, but didn’t care.

Finally, came Eames. He was silent, following behind, watching everything. Sometimes if our path was blocked by onlookers we would have to pause for a second before they would move away. This forced us to all bunch together a little, and at, these times, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck; the slightest touch as he tried to keep walking before realising there was no way through. Sometimes I would turn slightly and catch his eye, and there was always a ghost of a smile on his face, as if all this was no big deal. He would pull a face at me – his eye brows raised comically – and I would snicker before turning back around and pushing onwards. Occasionally, we would lose him for a second in the crowd, but he would always find his way back to my side.


	3. Chapter 3

It was like no society I had ever seen before. Admittedly it shared the trade mark features of any society (like the leader, the meeting place and the crest) but there was something more; a sense of family stronger than any bonds of convenient loyalty. Even those who weren’t blood relations still considered the people standing around them as kin.

We had reached the main area of the house. It seemed the ground floors of three buildings had been opened up to create one large space big enough to hold the whole society in. Dotted around the room were steel bins full of fire, which people gravitated towards, and plastered all over the walls and the floors were paintings of warriors and fishermen. They were completed in such intricate, abstract detail, all the colours shimmering and pulsating, that I found myself staring in wonder at the artwork.

“Who painted them?” I whispered to Mal. She cast her gaze upon the walls, smiling slightly, “It was a team effort. I painted, but Eames drew.”

I was surprised and a little in awe. Mal laughed and led me to the very centre of the room, where a man stood by a fire. Everyone else sat down around his feet, looking up at him respectfully. I approached the figure nervously. He turned to greet me as I neared.

“So you are the unnamed one.” He said lightly, studying me as he spoke.

I nodded, feeling exposed as he introduced me to the society in this manner. ‘Unnamed’ was still considered an insult by most, although it was more politically correct than ‘nameless’.

“You’re Saito.” I said evenly, in my most respectful voice.

He smiled, bowing his head slightly, “Indeed.  I heard that you have been camping on our borders for the past few days.”

He waited for me to provide an explanation, so I offered him the briefest I could think of. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Well,” He raised an eyebrow, “You’re speaking to me now, are you not?” he turned to address the crowd, “What more do you want?”

“I want to speak to you alone.”

There was a sharp edge to my voice that made Saito turn back around to face me. His movements, like his words, were slow and precise. Like he was being careful. “Very well.”

At that he led me through the crowd, the people moving out of his way before he even reached them. He led me to a section of wall covered with a curtain, and when he drew it back I realised it was not a wall, but an opening to another room. He stopped on the threshold and turned back to the crowd.

“Eames.” He called out. Eames looked up in mild surprise, and, without needing further instruction, followed us into the private room.

Here Saito sat himself behind a battered oak desk and indicated for me to pull up a chair. I perched myself as close to the desk as the rotting floorboard would allow. Eames drew the curtain shut to offer us some privacy and then stood silently in the corner of the room.

“What do you want to talk about?” Saito asked me slowly, his voice warm and honest. It reminded me of Miles’.

“Isla.” I said, watching to measure his reaction. Unexpectedly, he threw back his head and laughed deeply.

“That woman!” He chortled, “Even now she’s causing me trouble.” He shook his head with a slight smile and his gaze returned to me. “So?”

I decided to just go for it and tell him the truth, “I think she’s my mother.”

Saito blinked, “What?”

“She’s my mother.” I repeated. He frowned, confusion sweeping across his features.

“She never had children, and even if she did…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I knew what he was going to say. Even if she did, she wouldn’t have left them unnamed.

“I can’t remember her, but she left a photograph with me.” I said quickly.

Saito was quiet for a moment. “Can I see it?”

“It was destroyed,” I replied, “As most things nowadays are. But I know what she looked like; long black hair, brown eyes with a scar at her temple. In the photo, she was standing in front of a green gate.”

Saito nodded slowly, beginning to believe me. “How did you know she was here?”

“I asked around.” I shrugged, “Been searching for her all my life really.”

“She didn’t have any children.”

“She had me. Years before you knew her, probably.” I lowered my gaze, finding patterns etched into the wood “She had me.”

Saito reached across the table and placed a comforting hand over my wrist, “Maybe…” he paused, “You look like her.”

My gaze flickered back up to his. “Do think so?”

Saito nodded, still troubled, “I knew her better than most.” He looked past my shoulder and gestured for Eames to come closer. “What do you think? Is the similarity there?”

Eames stepped around to face me, and then looked intently at my face. He was only inches away. For what seemed like eternity, or maybe only for a heartbeat, he studied me. Then he drew away and turned to report to Saito.

“It’s the eyes.”

Saito nodded, “Yes, the eyes.”

At that, Eames moved back into the corner of the room.

I sat there, fidgeting slightly as Saito frowned, deep in thought.

“If you really are her son, then…” He paused, unsure as to what the consequences would actually be. “We need to do a test, a maternity test.” He didn’t ask my permission, but turned to speak to Eames. “We’ll send some of both their DNA to the Halridge society. Call in a favour. If anyone has the technology to analyse the evidence, it’s them.”

Eames nodded. Saito turned back to me.

“Have you told anyone about this?” he asked urgently. I shook my head and he breathed out in relief. “Good. If anyone knew our hero had a nameless son the consequences would be unthinkable.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t want people to know. As long as I know the truth, that’s enough.”

Saito smiled, “Well you are welcome to stay here in the society as long as you need to.”

I nodded my thanks and stood up quickly to leave.

“Just bear in mind that the rooms are over-crowded here so you’ll have to sleep in the halls, or outside.” Saito gave me an apologetic smile, “And you’ll need to follow our laws while you stay here.”

I promised I would, and left the room. In the hall the crowd had thinned a bit, people obviously deciding they had better things to do than wait around for news of the outsider, but it was still considerably packed. A few people approached and introduced themselves, all very friendly, but also very unmemorable. None of their names stuck with me.

I was saved by Mal. She dragged me over to a corner of the room where Phillipa and Dom sat by a fire. I gratefully accepted the drink offered to me, although I had no idea what it actually was. It was sweet and bitter and heavy on the tongue, but it was warm and dulled the hunger pains.

“So you’re staying?” Phillipa asked me curiously, hiding slightly behind Dom.

“For now, I guess.” It seemed the news had quickly spread. I looked around for Eames, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you from?” Phillipa bounced forward to get closer to me, looking up expectantly. It seemed like I was her new best friend.

“Nowhere in particular. I spent a lot of time up north, and beside the sea, but the places don’t have names up there.”

“Was it cold?”

“Colder than here.”

“Don’t be fooled by the heat. It’s cold here too.” Phillipa informed me seriously.

I didn’t doubt her.

“Why don’t you have a name?” She continued while ignoring the warning look from Mal.

The other two looked embarrassed and apologised on her behalf, but I felt I owed her an explanation, despite how painful the topic was for me.

“When you’re a baby, you’re given a name by your mother.” I began, simplifying my childhood into a few, selective words, “But I wasn’t.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged, “Perhaps it slipped her mind.”

Phillipa frowned, trying to comprehend. I was surprised she’s never come across an unnamed before. We’re not that rare, and we’re certainly talked about a lot.

“My mum didn’t forget. She had me and Dom and she remembered for both of us.” Phillipa went on to say.

“Well, I doubt she could have forgotten about you. You’d have been making so much noise, asking a load of questions.” I rolled my eyes at her playfully and she stuck her tongue out. “Probably didn’t even bother with crying.”

Dom smirked, “She did cry. A lot.”

I laughed, and Phillipa punched her brother crossly on the arm.

“I did not.” She pouted.

Just then, Eames appeared and sat down next to me, balancing a plate of food in one hand and a book in the other. He plonked the plate on my lap without saying a word, and opened the book up to show me.

“These are our laws. You better learn them. The penalty for misdemeanours is high.”

I flicked through the book in interest, and then placed it on the floor by my foot so I could have a look in greater detail later.

“He doesn’t have a name,” Phillipa informed Eames in a mock whisper, under the impression that he wasn’t already aware of that.

“We’ll have to find him one then.” Eames smirked at her, glancing over at me.

I saw how Phillipa’s expression lit up, and hastened to correct her, “It doesn’t work like that.”

She looked a little deflated at this and I couldn’t help laughing.

“You know our society is fifteen years old?” Eames said casually, resting his feet on a chair across from him.

“Really?” I almost choked on my meal, “That’s impossible!”

“It’s true.” Mal nodded, “Because of the laws.”

“Without laws there’s anarchy, and societies don’t survive in a state of anarchy. _That’s_ impossible.” Dom spoke with wisdom.

“So that’s why the punishments are severe?” I asked, glancing in interest at the book again. “It says for stealing you could be exiled.”

“Or worse.” Mal shot me a look which left me in no doubt that she was being serious.

“Have you ever stolen stuff before?” Phillipa asked me.

Considering Mal’s previous remark I felt uneasy about answering, “Only when the choice was between that or death.”

Dom frowned at me, obviously of the opinion that I was a bad influence on his little sister.

“That was a long time ago.” I added quickly. “It was an apple.”

Eames smirked, raising an eyebrow, “Rebel.”

I shot him a scathing look, “It was an apple the _first_ time.”

“What about the second time?” Phillipa asked excitedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, catching Dom’s eye.

“So have you done other bad stuff?” Phillipa pressed on, “Because you’re unnamed?”

I hesitated. This unintentionally careless comment shocked me; it reminded me too much of various slurs and insults I’d had to endure over the years.

“No!” I snapped, instantly feeling bad as her face fell, but also still seething. I clenched my fists, trying to restrain myself from standing up and storming off. I could see Eames watching me with curiosity in my peripheral vision, and for some reason that seemed to calm me. Maybe it was because he was the only one in the little circle who hadn’t reacted to my outburst. Like he was expecting it, like it was understandable. I sighed.

“Sorry,” I said to Phillipa. She looked distraught, feeling bad that she’s said something wrong, and scared by my reaction.

Slowly she met my gaze. “It’s okay.” She said softly. “I won’t say it again.”

I nodded and tried my best to smile at her and show my gratitude.

“Well, I think it’s time you went to bed.” Dom filled in the silence as he stood up and helped his sister to her feet. She yawned in agreement.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” She asked me. “Will you sleep in our room?”

“He’s not allowed.” Dom told her gently. “No girls and boys can sleep in the same room, unless they’re family.”

Phillipa looked disappointed but was too tired to think any harder about it. “See you tomorrow,” She smiled at me, and followed Dom across the almost empty room to the staircase.

I was left with Mal and Eames. We sat around the fire, trying to stay warm as the shadows descended.  I guessed I would sleep here since I didn’t fancy going back outside for the night. The room was slowly emptying of people. I didn’t realise how late it was getting until it seemed like we were the only people left.

“So that’s basically it.” Mal was saying. I jumped back into the conversation in confusion.

“What’s it?” I asked.

“That’s all the laws we have.” She gestured to the open book.

I tilted my head to the side, “What?”

“That’s all the laws we have.” She repeated, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten them already.”

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. How had this happened again? So soon after the last attack as well.

“Go over them one more time?” I tried timidly. She raised her eyebrows in exasperation.

“It took hours! You must be joking!” She shook her head, standing up to leave, “You’ll pick them up as you go. Don’t worry.”

I nodded and watched her as she left, her body melting into the shadows.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Eames laughed quietly to himself, making me jump slightly.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “She is.”

“I’ll go through the laws again tomorrow.” He promised.

“You don’t mind?” I asked gratefully.

He shrugged, “You need to know.”

At that Eames stood up to leave. “Are you staying here?”

I nodded and, looking reassured and slightly awkward, he left.


	4. Chapter 4

It was fucking freezing in that room. Compared to the heat of the day, the nights were brutal, and, before long, I was shivering and shaking uncontrollably. I tried to distract myself by reading through the laws.

I’d never had laws before. In other societies you lived by your own personal set of moral rules, usually taught to you by your parents, and shaped by your peers. No one seemed to ever completely agree on what was right and what was wrong though. It seemed, reading through, that I had broken about half of the laws at least once in my life.

It was interesting to wonder how they had decided upon the laws. Some were obvious, like not killing or hurting anyone, others more obscure. They ranged from portion control at meal times to legal ages of drinking and smoking and sex. It was a lot to remember.

Then, one by one, the fires burned down and the room was plunged slowly into total darkness. I had to give up my studying and instead tried to distract myself from the cold by repeating the laws over and over in my head until I had learnt them.

But it didn’t work. Soon I had curled up in a ball on the concrete floor, without a blanket, trying to keep my surface area as small as possible. That was when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jolted upright instinctively.

“It’s only me.” Eames whispered, half-amused by my reaction. I relaxed a little, but couldn’t control my shivering. “Do you want a bed for the night?”

I nodded without hesitation and he smiled uncertainly at me. I could barely make out his features in the dark, but I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. I automatically shuffled closer, my survival instincts ordering me to move towards the source of heat.

“Strictly speaking, this is illegal.” Eames muttered to me as he stood, leading me through the darkness and up a staircase. “All sleeping arrangements have to be approved by the leader first.”

He sounded guilty, and I felt bad for making him break his laws.

“I just couldn’t leave you in the cold.” It sounded like Eames was trying to justify his actions.

“Thanks.” I said softly.

We walked up the staircase, taking care not to make any noise. There were many rooms along the corridors, and behind them I could imagine families sleeping. The glow of fire spilled out under some of the door frames. But Eames didn’t stop and continued along until we reached another staircase.

“Careful, the steps are worn down.” He whispered. Even as he was speaking I felt my foot slip on an uneven step and I stumbled slightly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. For a moment, I couldn’t move, my heart still beating wildly as adrenaline coursed through my body. Eames seemed frozen as well. We were standing so close.

Then he had released me and was already moving up the stairs. I followed him once I had regained some composure, being more careful now.

He turned to face me once I joined him in the hall way, his back against a bright yellow door. He bent his leg slightly, resting his foot on the door and studying me with dark eyes.

“So this is my room…” He sounded self-conscious, and when he realised I was waiting for him to open the door, he leant back with enough force for it to swing inwards.

I stepped past him and was greeted with the sight of a cosy little room, only big enough to fit the bed in. The bed itself had a wrought iron frame, twisted to look like the branches of a tree, and a shabby white mattress. Behind the bed, stretching across the back wall, was a bookcase overflowing with tattered books. Like everything else here, the room was a bit scruffy and in need of some paint, but it seemed homely and I liked it instantly.

“It’s not very big.” Eames apologised, squashing up next to me in order to shut the door. I shuffled around him and moved towards the bed.

“It’s amazing.” I said truthfully, “It must be nice to have a place all to yourself.”

He nodded, “It is.” Then suddenly he paused, embarrassed. I shot him a questioning look and he relented. “Honestly, you’re the first person to ever come in here.”

I gaped at him, astounded. “Not even Dom and Mal?”

“No.” He shrugged, “It’s kind of like my own private place, you know? It’s special.”

I smiled at this admittance, then surveyed the room. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

“No!” he seemed horrified by the very thought, “I promised you a bed, so here it is.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“You’re the guest,” he said firmly as he found some old, brightly coloured blankets and threw them at me. I caught them appreciatively and sat down on the bed.

“Where are you sleeping?” I asked.

“The bathroom,” He gestured towards a small doorway at the far side of the room. There was no door in the frame, only an open rectangle. Not very private.

“You can’t sleep in there.” I corrected him, “It’ll be freezing.”

“I’ve got blankets.” Eames held them up as proof.

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. It was his bloody room, he could sleep where he liked. I relaxed down on the bed. The mattress was soft and firm; just as good as my expectations had been.

Suddenly I heard Eames swear and I raised my head to see what was the matter.

“The tap’s been leaking again.” He sounded pissed off, and emerged from the bathroom with wet socks. “It’s soaking.” Distastefully, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks with wet, slapping sounds.

“Nice.” I laughed.

He shook his head, a smile playing across his lips.

“Just sleep in the bed.” I offered him. “I don’t mind. We’ve got separate blankets and everything.”

He frowned, “It’s illegal.”

“You’re kidding!” I exhaled in exasperation, “Is there anything that’s not illegal here?”

“The laws are important. They’re all we have.”

I ignored him, “Sleep in the bed.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Eames collapsed onto the mattress. I rolled over a bit to make more room for him.

“That’s three laws I’ve broken for you.” He said quietly, concern colouring his tone.

“What?” I asked sleepily, shifting onto my side to face him. He was gazing up at the ceiling, his hands resting behind his head.

“I gave you food when you were an outsider, I let you sleep in my room, and now we’re sharing a bed.”

“Could be worse.” I smirked.

“You’re a bad influence on me, Darling.” He laughed quietly under his breath.

“I’m not your darling.” I pointed out dryly.

“Darling.” He repeated softly, daring me to argue.

“What’s with all the books?” I asked after a short, comfortable silence. I almost thought I had fallen asleep, but the question popped up unexpectedly.

“It’s the society’s library.” He reached over his head and pulled one down to show me. “No one is allowed to have their own books, but they can borrow them, if they want.”

I lazily took the book off him and examined it, “Don’t tell me; books are illegal?”

He took possession of the book again, gently teasing my fingers off the cover, and placed it back where it belonged on the shelf. “Owning them is.”

I sniggered, “This society’s fucked up,”

“You can’t say that. It’s illegal.” He pointed out wryly.

“Fuck you.” I murmured, “And your society.”

“I should report you for this.” He said, his tone absolutely serious.

“Then I’ll report you.” I countered.

He twisted onto his side to look at me, a sceptical expression on his face. “Looks like we’ve reached an impasse.” He said lightly.

I shrugged, unbothered by his barely hidden threat. I could feel my eyelids closing. Damn, it had been a long time since I’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Goodnight.” I muttered, already unconscious.

“Night,” He replied, rolling onto his back again. He paused, a smirk visible on his face despite the poor lighting.  “Darling.”

I was woken by the shifting of bed springs just as the morning light streamed in through the open window. I had had the best night’s sleep I could remember (which wasn’t saying much) and I now felt floppy and relaxed and warm.

Once I managed to resurface from unconsciousness, I blinked open my eyes to see Eames sitting next to me, the blankets twisted around his legs, resting an open book on his knee. It was only when he glanced at me that I’d realised I’d been staring.

“Hello,” He said good-naturedly.

“Hi,” I rolled out of bed and stretched slowly. I must have been really, fucking tired last night to have agreed to share a bed with another guy. I yawned, backing up my assumption.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, making polite conversation.

“Yeah,” I added lamely, “You?”

“Fine,” I could practically hear him smirking, “You talked a bit in your sleep though.”

I spun around to face him, “I did? What did I say?”

“Well,” He shrugged, closing the book, “You sounded sad.”

I frowned at him, and he tried to explain, “You didn’t really say much, just random words.” He shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

I shot him a suspicious look, sure he was holding something back, and padded to the bathroom, being carefully to avoid the pools of water on the floor. I splashed water over my face and then examined myself intensely in the mirror. Did I really look so thin? So tired?

I sighed and headed back into the bedroom.

“What happens now?” I asked Eames, moving to stand by the open window.

“Breakfast?” He suggested happily.

“I mean, what happens to me? How long am I allowed to stay with the society? What do I have to do to earn my place here?” I turned to face him, my concerns spilling out all of a sudden.

Eames laughed, “Don’t worry. I know you think our society’s fucked up, but it’s not really. You can stay as long as need to. No one’s going to throw you out.”

“Good.” I said, relieved.

“Unless you break the laws.”

Just then a knock sounded at the door. Eames jumped a little, then caught himself and went to answer it. Standing in the doorway was Mal. She greeted him warmly, then peered over his shoulder and noticed me.

“ _Salut!_ ” She looked surprised and turned back to Eames, “What’s he doing in your room?”

Eames took a second to answer, “Just giving him a tour of the building.”

Mal raised an eyebrow, obviously not fooled.

“It’s true.” I interjected, “He’s showing me the library.”

Mal cast an unimpressed eye over the collection of books. “Yeah, the library’s quite… something.”

Eames gave her a playful shove in mock offense, and then gestured for me to follow him out of the room. We walked down the stairs, greeting people as we strolled past their rooms. All the doors were open, and children were running in and out of them without anyone batting an eyelid.

“Breakfast is served in the hall.” Mal told me, as she picked up a child who had tripped and set them back on their feet. “There you go, sweetie.” She murmured to the little girl, “Be careful now.”

The girl laughed brightly, not hurt at all, and ran back to her mother, wrapping herself around the harassed woman’s legs.

“You’re good with kids.” I remarked. Mal gave me a look.

“I have to play with other people’s, because I’m not going to have one of my own anytime soon.” She pouted. I think she was joking since Eames laughed at her.

“Why not?” I asked without thinking.

“You need to be married.” Mal rolled her eyes, “And I haven’t gotten a single proposal.”

“She’s been bugging me long enough.” Eames muttered to me under his breath. Despite his sneakiness, Mal heard and slapped him admonishingly.

“I don’t want to marry _you._ ” She snapped.

“No, that’s true.” Eames agreed, “You’ve got your eye on Dom.”

She shrieked in indignation and chased him down the stairs, cursing at him. I laughed, running to keep up with them. They already seemed like an old married couple to me.

Breakfast was a pleasant affair. We gathered around a fire, where a man had some bacon cooking, and helped ourselves to the food on offer. It tasted greasy, and warm. Just what I needed.

“By the way,” Mal said to me, “Don’t tell Dom about all that rubbish Eames was saying. He wouldn’t understand.”

I nodded, “Sure.” I reached for some more bacon, Eames beating me to it. He looked at my pitiful expression, then back to the delicious bacon and then back to me.

“Fine.” He groaned, throwing it at me. I smiled in victory; pitiful expression strikes again.

“So,” Mal shuffled closer to me, “Are you married?”

I stared blankly at her for a second, then burst out laughing. “Where I’m from, no one gets married. We fuck, and then never speak again.”

Mal giggled, lowering her voice “You’ve had sex?”

“Yeah.” I said casually. “A few times.” I paused, thinking hard, “That’s not illegal is it?”

“Depends,” Eames said dryly, “How old were you?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head in amusement, “Old enough.”

Mal smirked, “You have to be married here, and you can’t get married until you’re sixteen.”

I gulped, “Oops.”

Eames patted Mal’s arm, who now appeared to be asphyxiating. “Calm down, dear. It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” I attempted to make things better, “I mean, I didn’t break any other of your sex laws, did I?”

Mal shook her head, “Was it at night?”

“Yes.” I paused, “Wait. Is having sex during the day illegal?”

Eames nodded, a smile raising the corners of his lips. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” I repeated, rolling my eyes, “Well, what else? Surely I didn’t break any other laws?”

“Let’s check, shall we?” Eames thought for a moment before reeling off a load of conditions. “Was the other participant married to another?”

“No.”

“Was the other participant willing and had given you their consent prior to the intercourse?”

“Yes.”

“Was the other participant human?”

“What? Yes!”

“Was the other participant of the opposite sex?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? It’s the most important one,” Mal gave me a suspicious glance.

“Yes!”

“Good. Were you appropriately protected, unless given permission by the leader prior to the intercourse to conceive?”

“Oh wow.” I said, “That’s creepy.”

Eames pushed for an answer, “Did you?”

“Probably.”

He lifted an eyebrow, “How reassuring.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I was getting used to Eames’ dry humour. While others seemed to mistake his sarcasm for bitterness, I recognised it as his own way of coping with the crappy life he had. Not that is was actually _bad_ **,** it just wasn’t the life he wished for.

Eames didn’t tell me any of this, not in so many words, but in him I recognised elements of myself; he was a man searching for something, just like me. And he did have a good life, so he never complained. He had food, water, shelter and a society. He had stability and protection. I would have killed to have a life like that when I was growing up.

I think Eames understood me too. Sometimes I would comment on something, and Dom and Mal would stare at me blankly. But Eames always got it. He knew that I was happy and sad and lonely and reckless all at the same time. No one else knew.

So when I said those things, the inappropriate things, the extreme things or the terrible things about my past, only Eames really understood that I wasn’t saying them to cause offense, or to worry the others, I was just trying to share my experiences.

Additionally, Eames was the only one who had guessed about my amnesia. Mal quickly figured out I was forgetful and scatter-brained, and Dom didn’t really notice at all, but Eames was always checking subtly to see if I remembered things. He didn’t do it in a condescending way; more in a concerned, but not worried, way. To be honest I don’t know how he managed that.

But it was comforting to know Eames had my back. Occasionally he would pick up on something I’d forgotten and fill me in. This way, the amnesia wasn’t so bad, because at least some of what I’d lost was returned to me. Other times, Eames reminded me of important things I’d said I’d do, schedules I had to keep, or people’s names. Half the time I had no idea what he was talking about, but with his help, I didn’t get in trouble once.

My first week in the society was difficult, but worth it. I had finally found a home. It soon became clear to me that Mal and Dom were the best people to be friends with, because both were well-respected and well-liked. Dom was a warrior (he had passed the initiation over a year ago and was moving quickly up the ranks) and, to my surprise, so was Mal. The concept of ‘warriors’ was fairly common in societies, but female warriors were more unusual, especially ones as young as Mal, who had proved herself only a few weeks ago. Also to my surprise, was the fact that Eames wasn’t a warrior. He had apparently passed all the tests, but had declined the title, for reasons unknown. This I found out from Mal, as Eames didn’t like to discuss the matter.

I was unable to become a warrior because of my status as an unnamed. It was the law. I didn’t care too much. Eames and I could be unwarriors together.

So, I was happy and settling in to the Madison Road society. I helped out where I could with odd jobs for the residents. I was pretty handy with a screwdriver and a hammer. This made me popular with the middle-aged mothers, but not so much with their husbands, who always insisted they were ‘getting round to doing it’. Sometimes I accompanied warriors on patrols, or assisted in their training sessions (which basically meant I volunteered to be their human punch-bag), and from this I learnt a lot. Even if I couldn’t be a warrior, I could still kick ass if needed.

I also helped Eames out. I’m not sure what his official job title was, but he worked closely with Saito and organised liaisons with other societies, seeming to be a persuasive public speaker. He was a well trusted and highly regarded character, but he didn’t seem to have many friends. Even Dom, who had to look after his little sister, made time for his fellow warriors and the countless girls looking for a proposal. But Eames didn’t. He had admirers alright (he was too handsome not to), but he pushed them away. Sometimes he was very cold and distant towards them, but for some reason they kept swarming around him.

I quickly figured out the reason for Mal’s lack of proposals. It seemed the men didn’t want a warrior, they wanted a wife. Someone to cook and clean and squeeze out babies for them. And there was no way Mal would have settled for that kind of life. That didn’t stop the lads fantasying over her though. Rumours even started circulating that I was planning a proposal, which wasn’t true. Mal was a friend and, although I could appreciate her beauty and sex appeal, I wasn’t going to endanger our relationship by proposing. I had been with girls like Mal before, and in my experience, you couldn’t fuck a girl without losing any respect you had for her.

I had been with a few people before, but nothing serious. It was true I was a typical, horny young man, but I found in a world as bare and immaterial as this, you soon got used to the nagging feeling of longing and wanting, and had to make do with what you had, which, in my case, was nothing. Sometimes I woke up in the morning from a dream in an embarrassingly hard state, but Eames always pretended not to notice. For which I was grateful. Hell, sometimes he did too.

I still shared a room with him. Eames had arranged everything with Saito and received the required approval. We talked about rent and sourcing two separate, smaller beds, but nothing transpired from those discussions. It was just easier to continue as we were. I did try and help out as much as possible though. I fixed the plumbing in the bathroom and cleared the dry rot. I even found some paint and we planned to redecorate at some point when we both had a bit more time. Eames was busy trying to sort out the maternity test for me. It seemed we were not quite on as friendly terms with the Halridge society as Saito had believed, and Eames was acting as a diplomat in trying to secure the favour.

Thankfully no one commented on the sharing of the room. If we had been in one of my previous societies we wouldn’t have heard the end of it, especially with Eames’ infamous hatred of people in his room. But no one muttered or teased us, because in this society there were just some things you didn’t say. Some things that were never, could never, be discussed. So the taboo protected us.

Eames was a bastard. He was clever and fiery and opinionated and so godamn flawed but so perfect at the same time it was difficult to know whether to hate him or revere him. I don’t know if we were friends exactly, but we were something. We didn’t ever talk about it, or decide that’s how we stood. It just happened.

“Why are you still awake?” I asked softly one night, rolling over in the moonlight to face Eames. He gave me a strange look.

“Why are you?” He fired back, smiling slightly. I grinned easily in the darkness and closed my eyes.

“I’m not. I’m asleep.”

I felt his pillow hit me in the face.

“Ow.” I complained, opening my eyes and sitting up slightly.

He smirked. “Serves you right.”

“Charming.” I huffed, turning my back on him. I was only joking, but Eames didn’t catch on. He thought he’d upset me, and there was concern in his voice when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean it.” He whispered, as close to an apology as I think he’d ever got, but I refused to answer, lying very still, and I heard the springs creak as he leaned over to see if I was awake.

“Stop pretending to be asleep.” He muttered in mock annoyance, close to my ear. I pushed him away, suddenly becoming animated when I realised how close I was to getting squashed by him.

“Get off.” I complained. He resisted slightly, but soon surrendered to my superior strength and collapsed onto the bed.

“So,” I leant on my elbow and stared hard at him, “Why _are_ you still awake?”

He shrugged, “Couldn’t sleep.”

I nodded and looked out of the window. It was still deadly dark, with no sign of life outside.

“Same.” I breathed out softly, still gazing at the dark sky.

“What are you looking at?”

I shifted to face him and said sadly, “I’m trying to find the stars, but they’re hidden.”

Eames raised his gaze from my eyes and looked over my head to the window. “I know where they’re hiding.”

“You do?” I perked up a little.

He raised an eyebrow, “Do you really want to see them?”

“Yes!” I spoke a little too loudly and paused to see if I’d woken anyone in the neighbouring rooms.

Eames hesitated too, then rolled out of bed and crept towards the door.

“Come with me.” He said simply.

I didn’t even think, I just jumped lightly out of bed to follow him.

He led me to the staircase tucked away at one end of the landing. I had often wondered why the staircase was there, but had never had the time, or the courage, to go exploring before. Eames made his way up quickly, without looking at me or speaking. It was exciting. I felt like we were breaking the laws, and from the amount of tension in Eames’ shoulders, I wondered if we actually were. I knew the laws back to front now, and this wasn’t prohibited, so there must have been another reason for Eames’ stiffness.

The further we went up, the colder it got. At last we reached the top of the stairs and I was confused. It seemed like we had hit the ceiling, with nowhere to go from here. Eames was fumbling in the darkness and then suddenly the roof opened up and I realised it was a trapdoor.

Silhouetted against the night sky, Eames seemed very dark and enigmatic. He smiled at me carefully and then said, in a low, soft voice, “Do you trust me?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone in my whole life.” I replied slowly, my heartbeat increasing for some reason. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Afraid of a little danger?” Came Eames’ reply, “What kind of rebel are you?” I could hear the light teasing, but I didn’t smile or insult him back like I usually would do.

Instead I pushed past him, and clambered out of the trapdoor and onto the roof of the building. It was incredible. The city’s skyline stretched out before me, and endless trail of charcoal along the horizon, with bright, pinpricks of light. I could see for miles and, up here where the air was so cold and clear, I could see the stars, burning just for us.

Eames closed the trapdoor behind me and sat down, balancing precariously on the terracotta tiles. I remained standing, gazing up at the heavens like I used to when I was a kid. Seeming to understand the importance of the moment I was having, Eames stayed quiet, waiting for me to speak.

I slowly raised a single finger, and traced out constellations.

“The eagle.” I said softly.

Eames remained silent, but I could sense his curiosity at my bizarre statement. I decided to enlighten him.

“Can you see it?” I enquired, pointing upwards towards a collection of stars.

Eames was quiet for another moment before asking, “Where?”

To me, the starlit eagle was easy to see, but I appreciated Eames didn’t know what he was looking for, so I sat down next to him, and tried to point out the bird in his eye line. I had to shuffle close to him to make sure he was looking where I was.

“Do you see now?” I asked, the wind chilling me slightly.

Eames nodded, his eyes fixed on the constellation lest he lose it in the myriad of stars.

“That’s the eagle.” I murmured, “He was once a proud, strong bird; a hunter of the skies. But one day he flew too close to the sun.” I turned my head slightly to look at Eames, but he remained still, “He was blinded by the great light, and he fell towards the ground, not able to tell which way was up and which way was down. When he collided with the earth, he broke his wing, and couldn’t move.” Eames breathed out slowly, relaxing into the story. “For days he lay there, until a young boy from the village found the flightless bird, close to death. The boy took pity on him, and nursed him back to health. But the eagle’s wing didn’t mend properly, and he couldn’t fly, no matter how long or how hard he tried. However, it wasn’t all bad; the eagle had grown fond of the boy during his recovery, and the boy loved the eagle also. He was the boy’s closest friend. He would sing sweet songs to him, and stroke his feathers softly, and tell him stories about his life. The boy came to visit him every night, and found that he was lonely when the pair was parted. But the boy had to hide their friendship from the other villagers; because he was afraid they would hurt the eagle.”

Without warning, Eames rested his head on my shoulder. He seemed to be falling asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I let him stay there. I was surprised to find myself noticing how warm he was and how his touch was somehow comforting. He needed the sleep, so I went on with the story, hoping my words would soothe him.

“But the eagle longed for the sky. He longed for the freedom he once had. He longed for the days when the other birds would marvel at his beauty and strength when he flew. The only one who found him beautiful now was the boy. The boy could see how ill he was making himself with these thoughts, and was so frustrated that there was nothing he could do to help his dear friend. I don’t think the eagle realised how much the boy suffered to see him unhappy. Slowly, the eagle grew sicker, until one day he found himself so weak that he could barely lift his head when the boy sang to him. So the boy prayed to his gods and asked them to let the eagle fly again. That night the eagle died, and, as the boy sat by his body, weeping bitterly for his best friend, he looked up and saw a new constellation. A proud, strong bird; a hunter of the skies. And this way, the eagle would always be flying, looking down upon the boy.”

I finished the story slowly, feeling unexpectedly emotional. Eames was asleep now, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he dreamed. I sighed and closed my own eyes, resting my cheek against his forehead, and slept until the sun broke over the city at dawn.

Eames was still huddled up to me when I woke, and I marvelled at the way the sunlight lit up his face, smoothing over any flaws and blessing him with the image of perfection. Slowly, without understanding or caring why, I pressed my lips softly to his crown of his head and kissed him gently. Never in my life had I felt so close to another human being, never had I allowed myself to get close. Eames was my friend. He was mine. I smiled, realising how lucky I was. I doubted many other people had anyone like Eames.

Eames woke up gently in my arms, and for a while we remained sitting together on the rooftop. But then the responsibility we owed to the rest of society demanded we go back down and make ourselves useful.

“Thanks for showing me the stars.” I said to Eames as we slipped through the trapdoor.

“Thanks for showing me them too.” Eames smiled.       

We didn’t return to the rooftop ever again, because the staircase was pronounced unfit for use a few days later. And that was the end of that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Slowly I was persuading Eames to rethink his policy on privacy. I reasoned that, as it was half my room now, I should be allowed company. And since the only company I wanted over were his friends, there was no argument he could come up with to deny them access. I could tell he didn’t like it though when Mal was dramatic, or Dom was rough, or Phillipa picked things up and put them back in the wrong place, but he didn’t complain. I sometimes caught his eye during these moments and he would shoot me a long-suffering look, but he didn’t mind because he knew how much it meant to me. After living my whole life alone, it was nice to spend time with friends.

Mal in particular took advantage of this. She liked the privacy of Eames’ room since she shared hers with three other girls, all of whom she couldn’t stand. They always teased her for being a warrior, and she always punched them in the face.

And one day Mal burst into our room, more excited than I had ever seen her before.

“Look what I found, _mes chéris_!” The illegal language slipped out of her mouth in her excitement.

Eames paused in the middle of a press-up, and I glanced up from a book, mildly curious. Until that point it had been a nice calm evening. Mal presented her find to us with a flourish, and it didn’t disappoint the dramatic build-up.

“A guitar!” She announced proudly.

I cast it an admiring glance, “Holy shit! I haven’t seen one of these in years!”

Mal arranged herself neatly on the bed. “It was just lying there, all abandoned and sad looking. I had to rescue it.” She crooned.

I reached out for the guitar and stroked the polished wood, before leaning back against the window sill.

“Can you play?” Eames asked with interest.

“I used to be able to.” I frowned slightly, strumming a cord experimentally.

Mal beamed, “I don’t think anyone here can play.”

I nodded. Musical instruments were hard to come by.

“You used to have a piano, didn’t you, Eames?” Mal went on.

Eames murmured an affirmation, looking slightly sad. I wished I could have heard him play.

I rested the guitar on my lap and plucked a few of the strings, creating a soft, chaotic melody. I smiled as the song in my head slowly found its way to reality.

“Sing us something.” Mal insisted.

“I don’t know any songs.” I apologised, “I’ve forgotten them all.”

Mal pouted, looking a little put out, but Eames watched me thoughtfully, almost admiringly, as I strummed a broken tune.

“Make a song up.” Eames suggested, a wicked glint in his eye. I blushed at his misunderstanding of how talented I was.

“I can’t.” I shook my head, “I wouldn’t know what to sing about.”

Eames regarded me intensely, “Sing about us.”

Mal began clapping excitedly, bouncing slightly on the bed. “Yes! Please do!”

I laughed reluctantly, rolling my eyes. “Fine, but you have to go easy on me, I’m not very good.”

“We’ll be the judges of that.” Eames smirked, triumphant.

I ignored him and tried out a few chords. Mal was getting impatient, so I started with her.

“ _Mal, Mal,_ _ma chérie_.” I sounded very self-conscious, but not bad. I’d always had a good singing voice. Low and rough, with a lot of room for improvement, but not bad at all.

“ _You’re sitting across from me, on the bed, happily. You made me sing a song, so I will, but it won’t be long. It’s supposed to be about you, and it is, that much is true. But so far… it’s not really_.”

Eames snickered at my attempt at the first verse, but Mal’s eyes were bright with enjoyment, so I continued.

“ _I met you last week, outside, in the street. You glared a lot, you could say, we didn’t hit it off. But miraculously, you smiled, you took pity on me. And now you are my friend._ ”

She erupted into a fit of giggles and I stopped singing to grin at her. Not my best song, but she seemed to like it.

“Heart-warming.” Eames commented dryly. I raised an eyebrow at him and he gave me his best _I’m being serious_ face.

“It’s Eames’ turn now!” Mal said eagerly.

I sighed in mock exasperation. “So demanding!”

She gave me a playful shove. “Come on, don’t ruin it!”

“It better be good.” Eames agreed.

So I stared playing again, something a bit slower so I wouldn’t have to make the rhymes up too quickly. I stared at his face, trying to find inspiration. Then slowly, I began to sing, not quite sure of the meaning of my words, or whether they rhymed, or why I was singing them. All I knew was this song was about Eames.

“ _The stars fall to the earth but you can’t catch them_

_It was all just a dream, they said_

_You’re staring at the pieces of a broken heart_

_Without realising that it’s already dead._

_I never thought I’d find you in this city_

_There’s something about you that I dread_

_But I even if you scare me so completely_

_I’d rather figure it out with you instead,_

_You’re complicated, flawed and moody_

_And you enjoy messing with my head_

_You smile when things aren’t funny_

_But_ -“

Suddenly, I stopped singing. Eames looked at me silently for a moment, and then I was running. I had no idea where I was going, or even why I was going. I just had to go.

I didn’t know why I was freaking out, but I suspected it had something to do with the expression on Eames’ face. He had looked… happy. Blissfully so.

And that scared me.

The song had never meant to be anything more than just a bit of fun. But I had the feeling that I had been looking at Eames in exactly the same way.

He was my best friend, but I’d only know him for little over a week. Yet somehow we connected like we had known each other for years. I had never had a relationship with someone that actually meant something so quickly. I had never bonded with anyone so unquestionably. Eames was the only exception.

I found myself wandering along the West border, gazing out to sea. I still couldn’t understand why I was getting so upset about being so happy. It didn’t make sense.

I sighed. Below me, the ocean rolled and danced. The air smelt of salt and I could hear the distant crying of gulls. The chaotic city sights and sounds were muted here on the edge of the world. Down the road I could see the border patrol, and I recognised Dom’s tall figure. Seeing me, he waved, and I responded with a similar gesture, strolling down to meet him.

“How are you?” He asked cheerily, slapping me on the shoulder in place of the traditional hello.

“Not so good.” I admitted, casting a glance at the other members of the patrol. They were busy chatting among themselves, so there was no chance of being overheard.

Dom frowned, “What’s the matter?”

I considered this for a moment. I didn’t know what the matter was. I was just acting crazy. So I didn’t answer the question and instead asked my own.

“How long have you known Eames?” I said quickly.

“Five years.” Dom shrugged, “Give or take.”

“And how long did it take to become friends with him?”

Dom frowned at me, obviously suspicious of the question.  “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Fine.” I snapped impatiently, wanting to get back on topic, “How long?”

Dom blinked, “We trained together, and then started hanging out.” He looked at me carefully, “Why are you asking?”

I closed my eyes, trying to avoid having to answer. But Dom was having none of it, and shook my shoulder, forcing me to look at him.

“What’s the matter?” He demanded to know.

“It’s just,” I bit my lip, “I’ve only known him for a week, but I already feel like I’ve known him a lot longer. I’ve never had a friend like him before. Or like you, or Mal. It’s…” I paused, “Scary.”

Dom nodded, seeming to understand, “Well, we _are_ your friends. And if you ever want to talk, then we’ll be there for you.” Dom sounded like he wanted to say more, but fell silent.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s friend.” I said slowly.

“There _is_ no way. You just make it up as you go along.” Dom grinned, “And you’re doing fine. We all think you’re great. Eames seems to think you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

“What?” I ran a hand through my hair.

“I’ve never seen him so happy or relaxed around someone, so you’re obviously doing something right.” Dom laughed.

I smiled hesitantly. It seemed that intense, rather overwhelming and ultimately embarrassing feelings of affection were normal amongst friends. I thanked Dom as his patrol started sweeping down the border in the direction I had come from. Dom invited me to join them, but I didn’t fancy it. Instead I set off at a light jog along the road leading to the beach. The wind felt cool against my cheek, and the adrenaline dissipated some of the nervous energy I had bottled up inside me.

“Hey!” I heard the shout in the distance, but didn’t stop, focusing on keeping up the rhythm.

The voice yelled again, “Hey, you!”

I frowned, but still didn’t respond. No one would be calling me. In annoyance, I ran faster, away from the distraction.

The shout came louder this time, “Darling!”

I jolted in shock, and turned to see Eames running towards me. He looked worried, and angry, and happy all at the same time.  He stopped short in front of me, breathing hard and with his cheeks flushed from the exertion.

“Why didn’t you stop?” He complained.

I found myself trying to refrain from smiling, “I didn’t realise it was you.”

“Well, it was.” He snapped, “What are you running for?”

I shrugged, “I wanted to.”

“Why did you leave?”

I glared at him, “I wanted to.”

He looked at me in exasperation, gesturing wildly, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I sighed.

“Are you going to explain what the matter is then?”

I raised an eyebrow, “Do I have to?”

“Yes.” His expression turned stony and I found myself smirking.

“What?” he retorted, annoyed.

“You look funny.” I explained.

Eames stared at me as if I was crazy. Then suddenly his features soften and, shaking his head in bewilderment, he sat down on the stone wall, looking out to sea. For a second I just watched him and then I sat down next to him, my hands in my pockets, and joined him in his staring contest with the ocean. The waves were harsher now, breaking upwards towards the darkening sky. It was an awesome sight; a reminder of how powerful nature was.

“You sounded sad.” Eames said softly, without looking at me. “When you were singing.”

“I wasn’t sad.” I corrected him, “I was happy.”

“Why?” He asked curiously, shuffling round to face me. There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, an expression I had learnt to recognise.

“Why?” I repeated the question slowly, thinking hard in order to arrange my thoughts, “I was happy because I was with you and Mal, and because I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He smiled at me, looking so breathtakingly authentic in his happiness at my happiness that I had to smile back at him.

“I’m glad.” He said simply, turning back towards the shoreline.

“Have you-” I paused, thinking carefully, “Have you had a best friend before?”

The question seemed to surprise him, but he didn’t hesitate in answering. “No.”

“Me neither.” I said. And left it at that.

“Your song was good.” Eames complimented me. “Very expressive.”

“It wasn’t going to be, but it just seemed right, you know?”

Eames smiled at me and quoted, “ _You’re complicated, flawed and moody and you enjoy messing with my head._ ” He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be insulted. “ _You smile when things aren’t funny, but…_ ”

He looked at me, wanting me to finish, “But what?”

“But…” I lowered my gaze shyly, “I still think you’re perfect.”

It was silent for a moment. I stared at my hands, before peeking up at him from under my eyelashes. Beside me Eames was beaming. I laughed slightly, feeling a little self-conscious, but pleased that he liked it.

“ _Perfect_ doesn’t rhyme with _head_.” He pointed out.

“It almost does.”  I protested.

He acknowledged that with a little shake of his head. “Well, Darling, what are we going to do with you?” he asked in exasperation.

As rhetorical as it was, I still decided to answer, “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” He murmured dryly.

“No problem.”

“One thing I wanted to ask about… the first verse.” He glanced at me in concern.

“It was a metaphor,” I reassured him.

“A metaphor for what?”

“For life.”

He was silent, mulling it over, so I decided to explain.

“I meant that you have to do hard things in life and that you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. It meant you have to go further and try harder if you want to show everyone who you really are, I guess.” I found myself twisting my fingers together nervously, “I just wanted you to be able to see the good things that come of bad things.”

Eames’ expression almost broke my heart. He looked like he was genuinely upset for both of us and he swung an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. I leant into the embrace, too emotional to be worried about what people might think if they saw. And even if they did, there was nothing wrong with two friends hugging.

“It seems like we’ve both had a rough life.” He muttered.

I nodded, “Sometimes I’m glad that I can’t remember all of it.”

Eames looked sideways at me, pulling away from the embrace but keeping eye contact.

“From now on, we’ll make sure every memory is worth keeping.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Why didn’t you pick Phillipa up from tutoring?” Dom sounded angry, yelling at someone, and I didn’t blame him. His sister had been waiting alone for the past few hours. I exchanged a glance with Eames, who was frowning at me. I tilted my head, unsure what he was trying to silently communicate. I wondered why no one was replying to Dom. I wasn’t sure who he had asked to pick up Phillipa while he was on patrol, but I’d have thought they’d have the decency to apologise.

Dom growled in frustration, “Don’t you care that she could have gotten hurt or something all by herself?”

I pulled a sympathetic face, not wanting to get too drawn in to the argument. Mal looked frustrated.

“Darling, he’s talking to you.” Eames said quietly.

I blinked. “No, he’s not.” I turned to face Dom, completely bemused, “Are you?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you!” he exploded. “I asked you to watch her for me and you _promised_ you would!”

“What?” I panicked, “When?”

“This morning!” Dom yelled, looking like he wanted to punch me.

“Sorry! It slipped my mind.” I said hastily, feeling bad, “I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it magically better!” Dom snarled, “She hasn’t eaten since lunchtime. She was starving!”

I bit my lip unhappily, “Sorry.”

“How could you?” Dom looked disappointed, and really pissed off, “She’s fucking nine years old!”

“I’m sorry!” I raised my voice, not sure how to cope with the situation. I felt I was being blamed for something I hadn’t done, because, according to my short term memory, I hadn’t promised anything.

“Dom,” Eames cut in, “He apologised, alright? Can’t we leave it at that?”

Dom rounded on him now, but Eames didn’t look scared, merely concerned.

“No!” He advanced menacingly, “Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do, he abandoned my fucking sister!”

“Stop swearing!” Mal hissed, but she was ignored.

“Can you even imagine how scared she was?” Dom was yelling at me again.

I stood up, ready to leave the fire. People were staring at us and I didn’t feel comfortable here.

“I’m sorry, Dom. I didn’t mean to forget, and I hope I won’t ever again. I feel terrible and I will make it up to her.” I glared at him, my apology losing some of its impact when Dom sneered at me.

“And how are you planning to do that?” he hissed, “Go back in time and actually look after her like you said you would?”

I didn’t reply and instead turned on heel and stormed out of the room. Of course I was sorry, but I couldn’t be around Dom when he was so angry.

How could I have forgotten something so important? It terrified me that a whole chunk of my morning had disappeared and no one, not even me, had noticed.

I made my way to Phillipa’s room. She shared it with her brother on the first floor, almost directly below mine and Eames’ room.

I paused in the doorway, detecting the sound of sobbing. I knocked and entered without waiting for permission.

“Go away!” She muttered, her cheeks stained with tears. She turned her back on me and I sighed.

“Phillipa, I’m sorry.” I sat down next to her on the bed, “I just forget things sometimes.”

She sniffed and looked up at me with big, watery eyes, “Mum and Dad forgot things too.” She whispered, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. “Mum would forget to feed us so Dom had to.” She sobbed.

I put an arm around her but she shrugged it off and retreated to the other end of the bed, drawing her knees to her chest.

“Sometimes they’d forget to come home.” She moaned softly.

“I promise that I’m not like them!” I tried to reassure her but she began crying again. “Phillipa, I’m really sorry. I’ll try harder in the future.”

She didn’t believe me and I felt like I’d let her down.

“Just leave.” Dom was standing in the doorway, glaring at me. “Let me comfort my little sister.”

Swallowing back any protest, I stood up slowly and dragged myself away from the distraught child. Dom watched me leave coldly and, as soon as I was out of the door, he slammed it shut in my face. Dejected I wandered upstairs, feeling depressed.

It hadn’t been a good day. Not only had I let Dom and Phillipa down, I had also nearly broken a law and I had managed to offend someone by asking a personal question. I felt like shit. The past few days had followed a similar pattern, things going from bad to worse to bad again.

Once in our room, I paced for a while, letting out all my frustration in the form of physical exercise. Maybe I should go for a run. I shook my head at the idea. The clouds were low and dense in the sky, creating a humid bubble surrounding the city. It would be horrible.

But I did need to do something to calm myself. A bath, maybe? It sounded like a good idea, so I ran the water. Resting on the edge of the bathtub while I waited, I couldn’t help but replay all the bad moments from the past few days in my head. Phillipa’s big eyes kept flashing through my thoughts. The poor kid. She had had a difficult life before her parents left for good. Dom was overworked having to look after her every day, so any extra time he got to himself would have been really valuable, but I’d screwed it up. Now Dom hated me and Phillipa didn’t trust me. All because of my stupid amnesia.

Suddenly deciding I couldn’t wait long enough to undress, I plunged myself, fully clothed, into the cold bath. The water rose up the sides and splashed back down over me, and, for a second, I was submerged in its icy grip. Then I resurfaced and was met with the grimy whiteness of the bathroom. Was it too much to ask for a little beauty in this world? I punched the water in frustration.

I wasn’t even sure when I started to cry, but once I realised, I couldn’t stop, and then I was furious with myself for another reason. I was so pathetic and useless. I couldn’t do anything right.

And that was how Eames found me; sitting, my clothes drenched and sticking to my torso, my eyes closed painfully tight and one hand dripping over the edge of the bathtub. He didn’t say anything, but, even without looking, I knew he was there.

I heard footsteps and then I felt his fingers interlock with mine. I felt myself relaxing slightly, and I opened my eyes to see the back of his head, his cheek resting against my hand as he held it tightly. He was sitting in a pool of water on the bathroom floor, completely still, offering no reassurance except the fact he was there.

“I hate it.” I whispered, my throat rough from crying, “I hate how I have no control over it.”

Eames didn’t speak but I knew he was listening.

“It’s like I’m losing a part of myself every day and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t even know it’s happening and then suddenly I’ve lost a day, or I’ve done something bad and I can’t apologise for it. I can’t trust myself anymore because I don’t know what I’ve done or what I’ve said.”

Eames’ grip on my fingers tightened.

“I let Phillipa down and now she hates me, and so does Dom. I’ve never had any friends before; you know that, don’t you?” I gazed at his profile. He was so still he could have been asleep. His long eyelashes curved downwards and the skin between his eyebrows was tainted by a frown. I swallowed nervously, hoping I hadn’t hurt him too.

“I’ve never had anyone. I’ve always been alone. I should have known it was too good to be true; the five of us together. I should have realised that all I’d do was fuck it up and there was no point even trying in the first place. It just hurts more, when you’re tried perfection and then you lose it.” I sobbed quietly, bitterly. “I’ve lost them.”

Eames blinked, his lips pressing together worriedly. He spoke gently. “No, you haven’t.”

“They hate me!” I protested, but Eames wouldn’t let me continue. His voice rose suddenly in a paroxysm of emotion.

“They fucking love you!”

The outburst was followed by angry, confused silence. Eames pressed his lips against my hand, like he was hiding. I wondered if he was crying.

“How can they? When I don’t even _like_ myself.” I retorted with self-loathing that came easily, “I’m pathetic! I’m fucked up; I’m an outsider, a drifter, an _unnamed_!” I splashed the water angrily. “I don’t deserve to have friends or to belong to a society. I break laws. I live a bad life. I can’t be trusted-”

Eames suddenly twisted around, still gripping onto my hand. He was on his knees, looking me directly in the eye.

“Shut up.” He whispered angrily.

And I did.

There was something in his eyes that prevented me from arguing. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what my argument was when I was staring into the dark, green depths of his irises.

“You are perfect.” He said fiercely, scowling at me, “Why can’t you see that?”

I stared at him defiantly. I knew what I was. His words seemed like a cruel parody of my life.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he looked too frightening, too intense. His eyes were blazing and his breathing was harsh and erratic, like he was restraining himself from attacking me.

“You’re just a little lost, that’s all.” He said softly, a complete contrast to the expression on his face, “A flightless bird with a broken wing. You’ve fallen to earth.” His eyes closed painfully and I was reminded of the night on the rooftop. Everything had seemed so still and safe then. I had tricked myself into thinking it was all right. As if reading my mind, his eyes flashed open and he seemed even closer than before.

“I’ll heal you.” He breathed, slowly and softly, each word bold and bare so I could hear the authenticity of his promise. “So you can fly again.”

He didn’t look away. He let me stare at him for as long as I needed to completely believe him. He was offering me a lifeline, a safety net, and I would have been a fool to not take him up on his offer.

“Okay.” The word was simple, it’s meaning clear, but it was hard for me to say. I had never had to depend on anyone before. I had always taken care of myself. But wouldn’t it be easier if I had someone to help me? That’s what Eames was offering; a chance at a new way of living. An easier, healthier method.

At my consent, Eames visibly relaxed. He didn’t say any more, but rested his chin on the edge of the bath, so our eye line was level. He didn’t look away, and neither did I. My hand had grown warm in his, and I suddenly wished that he could hold all of me, so my whole body could be warm too.

I smiled, and he mirrored; an ethereal grin lighting up his face. He looked so unreal that I had to check, reaching out slowly to touch the side of his face. He blinked languidly, letting me.  My fingers traced along his cheekbone, enjoying the warmth underneath my fingertips. I followed the curve of his jaw, fascinated by the sculpturing of his features, until my hand dropped lazily back down to my side.

“I trust you.” I breathed, applauding myself for this unexpected step in a positive direction. I had never trusted anyone, not even Miles. That was partly his fault though. As he always said; the closer you are… I couldn’t remember the rest of the mantra, but was pretty sure it had been rendered redundant.

Eames smiled swiftly again, and rose slightly as if to leave, the tender moment evidently over. But I was having none of that, and grabbed at his shirt, pulling him back. He wasn’t expecting my ambush, and lost his balance, toppling into the bath with a great splash. The water crashed down on the tiled floor, making a mess, and I laughed in surprise. Eames was thrashing above me, his eyes closed against the water, a smirk playing helplessly across his face. After a few seconds of the instinctual squirming and struggling to get free of my grip, Eames gave up fighting and relaxed slightly. His knees were on either side of my hips, and he was careful to keep his weight off me. I still gripped at his shirt, and he pulled away teasingly.

“Bastard.” He stuck his tongue out at me, water dripping from his hair, all his clothes plastered to his contoured body.

“I thought you could do with a bath. You were looking a bit dirty,” I shrugged, flicking water at him. He shook his head like a dog in retaliation, showering me with tiny droplets.

“Serves you right,” he smirked as I shuddered in distaste, but then turned serious again. “The water’s so cold, how long have you been sitting here?”

I shook my head uncertainly.

“Well,” He appraised me with a condescending look, “You should get out before you catch pneumonia.”

“Catch a what?” I asked stupidly.

“Pneumonia. It’s an infection of the lungs. I read about it in a medical book.”

I still didn’t quite understand, but took his word for it and stepped out of the bathtub, the water on the floor now resembling something close to a mini ocean.


	8. Chapter 8

I needed a change. A positive change to mark the beginning of my new way of living. So the next morning we decided to repaint the room. The only paint brushes Eames had were fine and thin and not suitable for the task at hand, so he called in a few favours and procured some battered old paint brushes with the hairs sticking out at odd angles. I thought they looked like rats on sticks, but didn’t complain.

The paint itself turned out to be a beautiful dusky grey blue colour, like the colour of the sea mist in the morning, or the evanescence of the moon before night fell.  Eames smiled appreciatively as he cracked open the tin, breathing in deeply.

“Don’t you just love the smell of fresh paint?” He sighed happily.

“You’re high off the fumes already.” I told him. He just grinned at me in a silly way, before slapping the paint onto the walls exuberantly. I soon followed his example.

The blue wasn’t cold as I might have expected. It was somehow warm, like a summer night, and transformed the room into a secret, special place. We didn’t have any dust sheets down, but we didn’t mind the splashes of paint over the wooden floor, or onto the bed. It seemed to brighten up the place, like it was accidental art. Luckily, Eames had insisted on moving all the books off the shelves to a place of safety.

Eames certainly had the hand for painting. His strokes were quick and light, covering a vast surface area with one move. I tried to copy, but lacked the steadiness and control required. My lines all turned out streaky, and Eames shot me a sideways glance.

“One day I’ll teach you to paint.” He promised, while slightly mocking my handiwork.

In lieu of an insult, I flicked paint at him, dragging an indignant cry from his mouth.

“Hey!” He stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe what I just dared to do. Then, we with the wrath of a vengeful god, he pounced on me, bringing the paint tin up and over my head. I reacted just in time and shoved against him, forcing the paint to veer off course and drench both of us equally in blue.

“Damn it!” He swore, looking at me with a fiendishly evil expression on his face. I knew what was coming next, and grabbed my paint brush to issue the first assault before he could. But he dodged my attack and retaliated with his own, scooping a handful of paint and flinging it across the room at me. I jumped out of the way as it splattered across the wall and then rolled for cover behind the bed. Eames charged, swinging the paint bucket, bounding across the bed and crashing on top of me. I squirmed away from his grasp, but not before he left blue handprints all over my clothes.

“You’re a psychopath!” I laughed, giddy from the fumes, as I badly misjudged my aim and flung paint onto the ceiling.

By the time half the residents on our floor were gathered at our doorway to spectate, Eames and I were almost completely covered from head to foot in the misty grey blue. I had Eames backed into a corner, brandishing the paint brush threateningly. A large blob of paint clung onto the end of it, and Eames was eyeing it nervously.

“Come on, Darling. Show some mercy.” He begged, tensing up as I advanced.

“What’s in it for me?” I cocked an eyebrow; sizing him up, wondering how much damage I could do with the paint brush.

“I’ll do anything you want.” He promised rashly.  I took a step closer, encouraging him to elaborate. “I’ll wash your clothes for you. I’ll let you have the whole of the bed. I’ll…” He paused running out of ideas.

I closed the distance between us, smiling broadly. Behind me I could hear the cheers and taunts of the spectators. They were enjoying the show.

Suddenly, Eames’ expression changed from placatory to amused, as if he knew something I didn’t. I observed him cautiously, distrustful of the transformation.

Then I felt a wet, smacking sensation on the back of my head and I whipped around to find Phillipa standing there, like butter wouldn’t melt, with her hands coloured blue. She was laughing sweetly, delighted by the paint now dripping down the back of my neck.

I barely had the chance to wonder if I’d been forgiven before Eames tackled me from behind and I tumbled to the floor. His weight pinned me down, gripping me around the waist so I couldn’t twist around. Phillipa joined in the assault and painted one side of my face with her coated fingers, tickling down my throat when she got bored of that. I squirmed and called out for a truce, but was ignored by both the attackers, instead being treated to an intensified assault. Eames had wrapped his arms around me tightly and there was no escape. Phillipa was now tickling my stomach and I couldn’t help but laugh. For one so small, she certainly knew how to bring a man down.

“Now who’s begging for mercy?” Eames hissed in my eye, his eyes lit up with excitement. He looked like a little kid, having the most fun ever. “Not so tough now, are you, Darling?” he teased me.

I wriggled a little, slipping through his arms slightly. He tried an emergency readjustment of his grip but it was the opening I needed, and I broke through his barrier and launched myself at Phillipa, intending to subject her to a taste of her own tickling medicine.

She squealed and squirmed, trying to get away, but I grabbed the bucket of paint and slopped it over her. She shouted in protest, fighting with me for control of the paint, a big grin on her face.

Eames dived in and snatched the bucket from between us before we could even react, and then he was jumping on the bed, splattering paint on us while we were still rolling about on the floor.

“Eames!” I cried in remonstration, darting after him. I dived at him, catching him mid-jump and bringing him crashing down on the bed underneath me. The paint tin flew from his hands and spun through the air, cartwheeling with a tail of blue. Phillipa screamed gleefully as she was covered. The tin hit the floor with a metallic thud and the last of the paint exploded like a blue grenade, covering the walls and floor completely.

But I didn’t see it.

All I saw was Eames; lying beneath me. He looked up with those silent, green eyes. I could feel his heart hammering against my skin. I could feel his warmth and his firm muscles and soft touch. It was strange; like the sun after being in a dark room, or the first gasp of air as you resurface from underwater.

“Phillipa!” The yell came sharply, bringing me back to my senses. I leapt off the bed to face Dom, trying my hardest to look like a responsible adult. But he wasn’t fooled for a second.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he growled furiously, now directing his anger at me, “This paint can be dangerous and she’s covered in it!”

He strode across the room and grabbed Phillipa by the wrist dragging her towards the door. She looked sad, and a little scared, as if she were ashamed of herself. I tried to apologise, but Dom didn’t give me the chance.

“Her clothes are ruined!” He roared, rounding on me, “Do you have any idea how much clothes cost? We can’t afford to replace these!”

“Hey,” Eames interjected coolly, “It was just a bit of fun. No blood spilt.”

Dom glared at him, “Why do you always defend him, Eames? He’s a fucking nameless bastard. He’s bad news.” He advanced towards me, the need to defend his sister fuelling his anger.

I stared at him defiantly. He snarled at me, using his extra height to look intimidating.

“If you ever come near my sister again, I’ll kill you.” he said softly, simply, venomously.

I stepped backwards in shock; I really had lost Dom as a friend. I couldn’t react, couldn’t think of any clever comeback. I just stood there, dully. Eames sensed my distress and he marched forward to confront Dom.

“Shut up the fuck up!” Eames growled in irritation, “Think before you speak!”

It seemed for a second that Dom realised he had gone too far, but was too proud to admit it. Crossly, he seized Phillipa’s shoulder and marched her out of the room. The crowd at the door dispersed slowly as Eames turned his volcanic glare on them. The only person left was a dark silhouette in the doorway.

“You seem to be settling in well.” Fischer drawled lightly, keeping his features free of emotion. “Making friends with everyone.”

I ignored him, turning instead to try and clear some of the paint up. It was no use; the splatters were already drying in messy arcs over the wall. Painting over it would just leave bumps.

Eames crossed the room swiftly and slammed the door in Fischer’s face, but not before he stuck a foot in the door, forcing it open again.

“Just to let you know,” He ignored Eames completely; addressing me in such a manner I couldn’t help but pay attention, “You’re not going to be here much longer, so you might as well pack your bags now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I snarled, hating his smug, handsome face.

“In that case I wish I had a lower IQ,” He smiled at me pityingly, “so I could enjoy your company.”

I raised an eyebrow, too stressed and frustrated to be diplomatic, “Why don’t you go and blow your brains out? You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Fischer actually laughed. He sounded surprised. “Touché.” He murmured.

I thought he’d leave at that but instead he stood, surveying the room quietly.

“Not much room in here, is there?” Fischer commented. I wondered where he was going with this. “But you boys seem pretty… _cosy._ ”

I spun around, flinging a paint brush at his head, but he reacted quickly and disappeared behind the closed door a second before it smacked into the wood.

“What is the matter with everyone?” Eames growled, kicking at the empty paint tin. I sat down on the bed, running a blue hand through my hair.

“It doesn’t matter.” I said vaguely.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t, sighing irritably as he joined me on the bed, leaning against the wall.

We sat like that for hours, neither daring to move or speak. The room cooled as the sun set and still we did not move. The dark grew around us. I nodded off a few times, but every time I looked at Eames he was awake and alert, watching me.

Details of the day before started to get confused in my mind. I was tired, but couldn’t stay asleep for long. In any case my dreams were weirdly similar to reality; I would always be sitting close to Eames and he would always be watching me with an intense, unfamiliar expression on his face.

When I finally fell deeply asleep I had strange, erotic dreams where I could feel sweat and skin touching my body. Someone was breathing softly against my neck. I could hear their heart beating.

The morning came all too quickly and I lazily opened my eyes. Dried paint creased and cracked on my skin, and drifted from my hair. All I could see was blue. Eames had disappeared.

I stretched noiselessly, deciding that I’d better wash the paint off before I was stained permanently. My senses were still fuzzy from the restless night’s sleep though, and it wasn’t until I had walked into the bathroom that I realised Eames was already there, fully naked. He had his back to me, and I paused in shock.

He was beautiful.

That was just an observation. Nothing more.

His skin was pale, but not in a sickly way. He looked healthy; toned and vivid and pure. The paint stained the skin around his shoulders and down his back and my eyes were drawn to the twisting, striking patterns of the blue against white. Then my eyes continued down his back, and I blushed when I realised I could see his arse. It took me a second to look away, and I backed out of the bathroom without saying anything. He hadn’t noticed my presence, thank God.


	9. Chapter 9

I loved the guitar. It reminded me of something I’d once forgotten, like a lullaby sung by a familiar voice. I could sit all day and play it with Eames silent and still beside me. Sometimes he would lean against my leg and I would miss a note before creating the sweetest, most beautiful melody I could never have imagined before.

Dom refused to see me. He left the room as soon as I entered. And I was forbidden from visiting Phillipa when he was away on patrol. Sometimes I would sneak out to see her, but I didn’t like that; it made me the bad guy, going against Dom. Sometimes Phillipa would come to our room in the night time and I would play her some songs. Her presence made Eames uneasy but I reassured him with quiet words and fleeting touches. It was enough. Occasionally Mal would join us for these midnight meetings and beg me to finish her song. She said it was the best song she ever heard.

“Probably because you’ve never heard a good song before.” I reasoned.

She snorted in disbelief, her long legs stretched out across the bed. I sat beside her in a similar position and Eames balanced on the edge precariously on my other side. They both felt warm pressed against me. At the foot of the bed was Phillipa, curled up and already asleep.

“Who taught you to play the guitar?” Mal asked quietly.

I had to think for a moment, “No one, I think. In any case, I’ve forgotten.”

Eames shifted beside me.

“Who taught you the piano?” I turned to face him, leaning closer out of habit.

“My mother.” He spoke lazily, resting his head back against the head board, exposing the smooth curve of his throat.

I didn’t have to ask the question but he answered anyway. “She died of a tumour a few years back. My father was killed much longer ago, in some border war.” His voice was just low enough to hide any pain he was feeling, but I could still feel his sadness. “My father was a warrior, and he had killed other warriors. Eventually a warrior killed him. It all seems so pointless, such a waste. If there weren’t warriors, there would be no one to fight, no way to be at war. Just imagine a place without fighting.” He closed his eyes, “A place without death.”

I slipped my hand into his and squeezed softly. He responded by entwining my fingers with his.

We all sat in contemplative silence for a while, until Mal rose to take Phillipa back to her room before Dom returned from his night shift. She murmured a final goodnight before shutting the door softly.

I wondered if Eames was still awake, so I lightly stroked the edge of his hand with my thumb. He made a disinterested sound and rearranged himself so he was more comfortable, his cheek resting against my shoulder.

“Do you care?” He asked after a while, his face hidden against me so it was hard to make out his words.

“About what?” I whispered.

“That you didn’t get a name.”

“Oh,” I paused, “Yes, usually.”

“Do you care right now?”

I thought carefully, sleep slowing my thoughts. “No.”

“Good.” He said, as if he were proud of himself.

I smiled. “What do you care about?” I wondered.

Eames hummed happily to himself, but didn’t answer, too far into the world of sleep to risk returning to reality. I smiled again, and followed him into dreams.

We seemed to both wake up at the same time. We both seemed to realise we were lying in each other’s arms at the same time. We both decided we didn’t care at the same time.

I pressed my cheek against Eames’ chest, searching for his heartbeat. One of my arms was flung around his torso, pinning him to the mattress. Eames was positioned further up the bed and so had the advantage over me. One of his hands was idly playing with my hair.

“I love mornings.” Eames said pleasantly.

“Yes.” I agreed, “Before anyone else is awake.”

“The world’s so still and quiet, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”  I agreed again, nodding slightly to add sincerity to my answer. His t-shirt felt soft against my cheek and I stretched lazily.

“I’m going to the Halridge society today. I’ll need some of your DNA.” He said conversationally.

I sat up, disentangling myself from his grip, “How long will you be gone?”

 “I shouldn’t be long.” He laughed, raising himself onto his arms.

I frowned. I didn’t want him to go, and for a second a hint of doubt flared in his eyes, but then he smiled softly at me and crawled out of bed.

We didn’t mention him leaving again.

Instead we made our way down to breakfast. Mal smiled softly at me when I joined her, but there was a slight frown marring her brow.

“What’s up?” I asked as I helped myself to a chunk of bread.

She blinked, “Nothing.’

“Is anything the matter? You look like-”

“Like what?” She snapped, scowling at something in this distance.

Shocked and concerned, I backed down with a raising of my hands. “Nothing.” I muttered, but the echo of her previous statement left me feeling slightly bitter.

For a while we sat in silence and she began to play with my fingers, humming slightly under her breath. She made them walk about like little legs, striding across my plate and climbing up a mountain of bread, before posing triumphantly at the summit.  After what seemed a long time, she craned her neck to look me in the eye.

“I _am_ worried.” She confirmed slowly.

I swallowed, “About?”

“It’s silly, really.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s okay.”

Mal bit her lip, scanning the room nervously, but then she leaned in close as if sharing a secret, “Well, I suppose I’m just worried about you and-”

She was cut off suddenly by Dom’s arrival, cheeks turning red in embarrassment from nearly being caught saying whatever it was she was going to say. Dom didn’t notice. He looked distracted and brushed past me to speak to Mal directly.

“I have something important to ask you.”

He hesitated but she didn’t prompt. It seemed like everyone in the room was listening in, and I found myself holding my breath in anticipation.

Dom cleared his throat, “There’s no point beating around the bush. You are the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Slowly, he reached into his pockets and pulled out a small package, wrapped in parcel paper and done up in string. Gently, he set it down on Mal’s lap and she tentatively reached for it, pulling the bow and folding down the paper.

Dom watched anxiously. Mal was speechless, she looked up at him in astonishment before gazing at the band of gold nestled in the paper, and slowly her lips lifted into a beautiful smile.

Dom beamed, “Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner?”

There was a second of silence and then:

“ _Oui!_ ” Mal leapt up and pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping her hands into his hair as if she couldn’t get enough. He kissed back and the whole hall erupted into applause. He spun her around the room a few times, hands wrapped around her petite waist before setting her on her feet and sliding the gorgeous gold ring onto her finger.

“ _Si belle_ ,” Mal sighed, cupping Dom’s face in her palm as she lovingly kissed him again, slow and sweet. “ _Je t’aime_.”

I clapped until my hands were sore, and , with quick words of congratulations, I excused myself.

Everyone was embracing the couple, shaking hands with Dom and kissing Mal on the cheek, but there was a strange aching sensation in my gut that prevented me from feeling happy for them. I couldn’t name it. I just felt a little… empty.

I looked around for Eames but couldn’t find him. It was likely he was at the middle of the celebrations, enjoying the attention and the festivities. I for one tried to avoid occasions like this. The spotlight was not somewhere I enjoyed being.

But Eames, he _liked_ people. He liked being around them, and talking to them and sharing their happiness. I did not. Maybe I was just a cold, heartless bastard.

 _Although that’s not true_. A small thought crept from the back of my head to the forefront of mind. _You like Eames._

Who didn’t? He was funny and intelligent and kind and handsome and loyal and warm and brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

I smiled at that. I wondered if he thought I was brilliant.

The day continued to grow warm and I made the most of it, walking along the beaches and down the steaming tarmac roads. I wove through the alleys and the narrow streets and across the sand, on patrol, or scouting for provisions or defining the boundaries. Anything to avoid the inevitable.

Eventually, sunset came and I hurried back to the Society. Somewhere along the way I started to panic, fearing that Eames might have left already, and so I ran faster, pushing my limbs forward against the waves of dread. There wasn’t enough air in my lungs but I didn’t dare stop in case I missed him.

I arrived to an empty bedroom.

I whimpered, “Eames?”

Suddenly I heard the door swing open and a small voice piped up, “He’s with Saito.”

I was already racing past Phillipa, pausing only to thank her, as I raced down the stairs.

Eames was about to leave. Surrounded by other people, he was wearing borrowed travelling gear and was heaving a rucksack onto his back by the time I reached him.

“Don’t leave.” I blurted out the first thing I could think of and it surprised him.

“I have to.” Eames reminded me, “It’s to help _you_.”

“I don’t care, just don’t leave.” I was panting and out of breath from my workout and feeling a little dizzy so I grabbed at Eames’ arm to stabilise myself.

“What’s this about? Is something wrong?” Eames pulled me away from the crowd, scanning my face in concern.

“No. Yes! I don’t know.” I stumbled, flushing bright red.

Eames was slow to respond, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” I repeated, feeling incredibly embarrassed. It was like a sickness inside of me whenever I imagined him leaving, but I didn’t know how to translate that into speech without Eames thinking I was crazy.

“Why do you want me to stay?”  Eames whispered. He had drifted closer to me, and there was real urgency in his voice.

“Because…”

 I didn’t know. _I didn’t know._

The silence stretched between us and Eames pulled away. He seemed disappointed, like I’d failed him.

“I have to leave.”

“No.”

“I have to. Be as stubborn as you like, but it won’t change the fact I need to visit the Halridge Society and find out if Isla really was your mother.” He stepped away from me and headed outside.

After a second I followed, suddenly at loss.

“Eames! Wait!” I called and, to my relief, he turned, smiling in amusement.

“Yes?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Stay safe.” I breathed.

Eames looked at me long and hard and then nodded once, firmly, before sighing deeply.

“You stay safe too.”

At that, he turned carefully and walked away, crossing over the border to disappear from view before I could summon up a reply. I stared after him and then my legs gave way, sharply, and I hit the ground. I found I lacked the strength to stand up again.

It seemed easier to not move after that.

Exhaustion and emotion mixed inside my brain like a potent cocktail. I actually did feel drunk; people moved around my but they seemed distant. Everything did. Except the sky. It was large and dark and closer than ever and bloody, bloody violet.

I closed my eyes to escape but the colours pervaded my skull.

Yellow like the happiness Eames brought to me. Green like his eyes. Red and purple and orange like the spines of his books. Black like the night sky dotted with constellations. Misty-blue-grey.

Misty-blue-grey misty-blue-greymisty-blue-greymisty-blue-grey

I thought I heard Eames saying my name. No, wait. That can’t be right. I have no name.

But, there: “Darling.”

I could hear it.

I could feel his hand on my shoulder.

Maybe if I opened my eyes, I could see him.

So I did. Slowly. Painfully.

I was no longer outside. I was in the bedroom, with the duvet wrapped around me and the misty-blue-greywalls on all sides.

“Darling?” Eames whispered.

I saw him.

“Oh great,” I muttered, “Now I’m hallucinating.”

And the bastard actually _laughed._

My subconscious was a bitch.

“What’s so funny?” I snapped.

“I’m here.” Eames replied, “I’m real.”

I raised an incredulous eyebrow and he hastened to explain.

“You don’t remember sitting on the road for a whole week?” He asked. “You refused to eat or drink or go inside.”

I didn’t know how to process this. I’d never lost seven subsequent days before.

“You were waiting. For me.” He beamed.

“Well don’t look too pleased about my mental breakdown.” I deadpanned, and he had the audacity to laugh again.

“You were delirious by the time I returned. Mal was trying to get you to follow her in but you refused. Quite violently, I’ve been told. When I got to you, we managed to get you upstairs and you’ve fell unconscious almost straight away. It was so sudden I thought you’d died.”

I shook my head, “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” Eames assured me. He gently clasped my hand, “But I’m back now.”

“Was your journey successful?” I felt obliged to ask, but I only really cared about the fact Eames had returned.

“Yes.” Eames paused, “I have the results in an envelope. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.”

I swallowed, and held out my hand, never taking my eyes away from his face. Eames carefully produced a blank, white envelope – slightly creased from being contained in his pocket – and offered it to me.

With trembling hands, I opened it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comment if you liked!
> 
> More chapters to come, so please bear with :)


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